


Flowers and Antlers.

by Snortinglaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Mutual Pining, Patronus, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snortinglaughter/pseuds/Snortinglaughter
Summary: Harry had never seen Malfoy do anything but sneer and smirk. It was so strange, not only to see him being friendly for once –and with Neville– but to see such an open and sincere expression from him. Was Malfoy trying to gain Neville’s trust to serve his own dark and mysterious purpose?





	1. Suspicions

Malfoy was up to something.

  
It was probably around midnight and Harry couldn’t shake off the thought. It’d already been a month since eighth year had started and Malfoy hadn’t even bothered to speak to Harry, not even to point out how stupid his scar was. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy staring at him, probably thinking of a clever way of hexing Harry without getting caught. And sometimes at night, when Malfoy thought everyone in the dorm was sleeping, Harry could hear small scratching and scrunching noises. Malfoy was probably writing letters to his mother, but why in the middle of the night? Was he hiding so nobody would find out if they were plotting against Harry? He closed his eyes and tried to listen for any unusual sounds coming from Malfoy’s bed. He could hear Mcmillan’s light snoring to his right but other than that... nothing.

  
Ok, maybe he was being a tad paranoid. Even if he wasn’t, he’d always been able to outdo Malfoy in the past; if the ferret was up to something, Harry knew how to defend himself. He punched his pillow and lay on his side trying to find a comfortable position. He still had some trouble sleeping; if it wasn’t because of his nightmares, it was because of the awkwardness of sleeping on a decent bed after spending months in the tent he’d shared with Ron and Hermione.

  
He was finally dozing off when a shuffling sound came from his left. _Malfoy_. Harry immediately cast a Muffliato on his mattress (the springs creaked sometimes) and jumped into a kneeling position on the foot of his bed to peek through his curtains. He didn’t have his glasses on, but he could still distinguish Malfoy’s white-blond hair in the darkness; he was walking across the room, only stopping to quietly open the door and exit the dorm. The little voice that sounded like Hermione in Harry’s mind stopped him from following; the last time he’d followed Malfoy things had ended up pretty badly. He lay on his back as several theories about what his former arch-nemesis was doing popped into his mind. There was something fishy in this whole situation; Harry had to find out.

 

* * *

 

  
Headmistress McGonagall had changed the rules this year and allowed students to sit wherever they pleased, an effort to strengthen Inter-House camaraderie. Malfoy and Neville were chatting amicably as they ate breakfast at the Slytherin table. A few weeks after the term had started Harry had noticed they were quite civil with each other, but a few days ago they had started sitting together in class too, and now they were _laughing_. Harry had never seen Malfoy do anything but sneer and smirk. It was so strange, not only to see him being friendly for once –and with Neville– but to see such an open and sincere expression from him. Was Malfoy trying to gain Neville’s trust to serve his own dark and mysterious purpose?

  
"We should go to Hogsmeade today. Have a drink at the Three Broomsticks." Ron said, eyeing Harry. He and Hermione had noticed the bags under Harry’s eyes, but they’d blamed it on the nightmares he’d told them he was having.

  
Truth was Malfoy had made a habit of sneaking out of the dorm at midnight and Harry didn’t sleep until he was back; he still had no clue about what was going on.

  
"Yeah, sure." Harry yawned and tore his gaze off of Malfoy. "A drink. Why not.”

  
"Good," said Hermione, clearly relieved. "We should visit Hagrid first and then go to Scrivenshaft’s before the Three Broomsticks."

  
"Yeah. Scrivenshaft’s,” he said absently as he saw Malfoy and Neville standing and leaving the Great Hall. There was definitely something fishy going on.

 

* * *

 

The place was empty except for a couple of fourth-years. Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking around looking for the school supplies they needed when Malfoy entered the shop alone. He noticed the trio and Harry could see a blush spreading on his pale neck.

  
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Your order arrived yesterday." The shopkeeper grinned as he reached for a package under the counter.

  
"Good afternoon Mr. Woodbead," Malfoy said, clearing his throat.

  
"I made sure to get a sketchbook with the smoothest paper surface texture –lightweight, just the way you like it– charcoal, and blending stumps. Make sure to let me know if everything worked for you."

  
"Yes. Thank you, sir," Malfoy said quietly, leaving a few galleons and sickles on the counter. "Good day." He looked at Harry again and left the shop.

  
"Is there an art class that we don’t know about?" Hermione asked, noticing Harry had been staring.

  
"Not that I know of. Luna would’ve mentioned it; you know how she likes to paint," Ron said.

  
"The things Malfoy just bought; they’re art supplies used for drawing," Hermione responded at Harry’s confused frown.

  
The scratching noises at night started to make sense. Malfoy wasn’t writing; he was drawing. Was it possible that he was doing nothing wrong?

  
"I’ve heard noises in the dorm; maybe he’s drawing at night when nobody’s watching?" he said, trying to sound casual.

  
"Anyway," Ron shrugged. "Should we head to the Three Broomsticks?"

 

* * *

 

It had already been four days since he had seen Malfoy at Scrivenshaft’s, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about what he could be doing, but now it was more in a curious way rather than suspicious. Harry could imagine why Malfoy wouldn’t want anyone to see his drawings; probably thought he would be mocked for it. Still, it didn’t explain Malfoy’s nightly escapades. Harry had a hunch that maybe he went to the Astronomy Tower to draw constellations or something of the sort and he was seriously considering the idea of following Malfoy under the Invisibility Cloak.

  
"Mr. Malfoy, is there something you’d like to share with Mr. Potter? If not, I would very much appreciate it if you would join the rest of the class in today’s lesson," McGonagall said sternly. Harry immediately turned to look at the blond who looked down at his parchment with bright red cheeks.

  
"I apologize, Headmistress,” said Malfoy, clearly mortified that he’d been caught staring.

Harry felt a strange sensation nudging him in the ribs; probably just curiosity. He turned his gaze back to the front of the class but quickly found himself lost in his thoughts.

  
Maybe Malfoy wasn’t really up to something insidious. Harry had always prided himself on how much he and his friends had matured after the war, but now he admitted that holding a childish grudge against someone who’d had no choice other than doing what he was told to stay alive maybe wasn’t so mature after all. He’d given speeches about making the effort to forget old prejudices but he wasn’t giving much of an example, was he? He was getting intrigued by this new Malfoy. Malfoy seemed to have left their old school rivalry behind; maybe it was time Harry did the same.

  
By the end of the class Harry had made a decision.


	2. Grapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy was using his knife and fork to cut his grapes into halves.  
> Was Malfoy seriously plucking the seeds out of the grapes? How ridiculous; that was it.

"Why you fretting, mate?" Ron eyed him as he sipped his Butterbeer.

  
"I’m not." Harry had kept his eyes on the door ever since they’d entered the Three Broomsticks. He’d overheard Neville saying he’d come with Malfoy; this was the perfect opportunity.

  
"Yes, you are. You have that look on your face, like when you were trying to ask Cho -"

  
Harry wasn’t even paying attention to Hermione’s words because at that exact moment Neville and Malfoy entered the place.

  
"Oi, Nev!" Harry called out.

  
They stopped in their tracks. Malfoy stiffened visibly when he realized who had called after his friend. He murmured something in Neville’s ear –a little too close, Harry found himself thinking– and walked away, searching for a table.

  
“Hey, Harry!” The boy smiled as he approached.

  
“Hi! Fancy joining us?”

  
“Oh, well, I’m actually here with Draco.”

  
“Yeah, it’s fine. I - we actually thought you’d both like to join us.”

  
_“We?”_ Ron managed to say before Hermione kicked him under the table.

  
“Um. Maybe some other time, mate. It’s not that he has anything against you lot, it’s just…” Neville looked over his shoulder to where Malfoy was waiting for him and sighed. “Some other time, 'kay?”

  
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” Harry watched as Neville walked away.

  
“I may have missed part of a conversation during breakfast, mate, but since when do _we_ want Malfoy to sit with us?”

  
“I just figured, you know, maybe it’s time for us to put our differences aside.” Harry shrugged. Ron looked utterly shocked by his response; Hermione just sat in silence studying him through narrow eyes as if Harry was a riddle that needed to be answered.

  
“Harry, you do realize this is Malfoy we’re talking about? The boy who’s made your life miserable since you first set foot in Hogwarts?” she said.

  
“I know, ‘Mione. But, don’t you notice something different about him? He’s not bullying first years anymore, not sneering at people left, right and center, not even making remarks about how my hair looks like a nest of pigeons with rabies.”

  
“Pigeons aren’t mammals, Harry; they can’t get rabies.”

  
“But what if, like, a dog with rabies bites a pigeon?”

  
“Harry, _no_. It’s not-“

  
“Forget about fucking _pigeons_ , Hermione; Harry Potter is honest-to-Merlin trying to convince us that Draco sodding Malfoy is a good person now,” Ron whispered fiercely, looking around as if they were having the most embarrassing conversation and he was afraid someone might overhear the nasty details.

  
“Just think about it, mate. Malfoy befriended _Neville Longbottom_ of all people; doesn’t that tell you something?” Harry froze for a second, realizing that yes, he was in fact defending Malfoy. Ron leaned over the table and looked deep into Harry’s eyes.

  
“No, he doesn’t look like he’s been Confunded.” He put a hand over his forehead. “No, he doesn’t have a fever.”

  
“Don’t be daft, Ron. I’m serious,” Harry said, slapping his friend’s hand away.

  
“Well, he is alone after all; none of his friends came back to sit their N.E.W.T.s," Hermione reasoned. “I suppose Nev sees something in him that we haven’t.”

  
“Yeah, that or Malfoy probably has him under the Imperius Curse,” Ron said grimly.

  
Harry felt a sudden twinge of annoyance at the suggestion and subtly reminded Ron about the Chudley Cannons’ latest defeat —that was enough to distract the red-head from anything—and discreetly glanced at Malfoy’s table every now and then while his friend kept talking about game tactics and statistics. Neville was laughing hard at something Malfoy was saying. It was still so strange to see them interact; Harry’s curiosity piqued as he wondered what they talked about. Was Neville aware of Malfoy’s nightly activities? If so, then he _must_ know about the drawings.

  
“Harry?”

  
He’d spent more time than he wanted to admit guessing what the drawings might be; landscapes, maybe? Harry remembered an ugly painting of a bowl of weird-looking vegetables somewhere in the Dursleys’ house. Malfoy caught his gaze and Harry turned back to Hermione.

  
“Harry, are you even listening?”

  
“Yeah, about the Cannons,” he said.

  
“No, mate. About going to Honeydukes before heading back to the castle; I’m out of Cockroach Clusters. You sure you’re alright?” Ron looked sincerely worried about him, though Hermione was eyeing Malfoy with curiosity.

  
“Yeah. Perfectly fine. So, Honeydukes? Sure; I’m in the mood for some chocolate frogs,” Harry said quickly.

  
He could swear he felt someone’s eyes on him as they left.

 

* * *

 

Fire. Everywhere.

  
He couldn’t breathe; couldn’t see.

  
There was someone else inside, screaming. He had to help.

  
Harry's eyes shot open; he sat up, breathing hard and wincing at the feeling of his sheets sticking to his back, and tried to blink the darkness away. He’d had nightmares about Fred and Lupin, about werewolves and Lavender, but never about the fire. He cast a cleaning charm on the bed, since it was soaking with sweat, and searched for another set of pajamas and a towel. The idea of staying in bed surrounded by dark curtains made him feel claustrophobic; a nice warm shower might help him relax. Harry had just exited the dorm, still thinking about his nightmare, when he crashed into something –no, _someone_ – and fell on the floor.

  
"What - " the other person whispered. The back of Harry's eyes filled with tiny white stars.

  
"Sorry, mate, didn't see you there."

  
"Potter?"

  
Harry's heart jumped and he tried blinking the blurriness away as he adjusted his eyeglasses.

  
"Malfoy?"

  
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he responded resentfully.

  
“I didn’t say you were.” Harry noticed the sketchbook he’d seen in Scrivenshaft’s laying on the floor beside Malfoy, who immediately took it and stood up.

  
“I’d like to enter the dorm, if you don’t mind.”

  
Harry scrunched his brows together in confusion for ten full seconds before realizing he was still on the floor and blocking the door.

  
“Oh, right,” he said as he stood but didn’t step aside. “Listen, Malfoy, um. Don’t know if Neville mentioned but, er, next time you’re in Hogsmeade, you and Neville that is, if you’d like to sit with us at the Three Broomsticks we wouldn’t mind. If you want, of course; you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Oh boy, he was rambling. “And, uh, I don’t think you’re doing something bad or anything, I mean I’ve noticed you’re not in bed sometimes. Wait, that didn’t sound – I’m not _spying_ on you, I just -”

  
“Potter.” Thank Merlin Malfoy decided to interrupt; it couldn’t get more awkward than this. “I get it. I’d like to get some sleep now.”

  
“Right. I’ll just go shower; my bed’s all wet.” _What?_

  
“Oh.” Malfoy blinked. “That’s – alright. Goodnight, then.”

  
He finally stepped aside as Malfoy entered the room and looked back at Harry with curious eyes.

  
Harry quickly headed toward the boys’ restrooms. Merlin, what the bloody hell was _that?_ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so embarrassed. And he’d been so close to the sketchbook; that confirmed his theory that Malfoy was sneaking away to draw. If he ever wanted to have a look he needed to get closer.

  
“My bed’s all wet.” He snorted. “Brilliant, Harry, fucking _brilliant_.”

 

* * *

 

They sat at the Ravenclaw table the next morning; Harry had a clear view of Malfoy and Neville and was thinking of a good excuse to approach them while the conversation flowed around him.

  
“Muggles claim it’s a forest fire but father is certain it’s a Heliopath,” Luna was saying. “I got an owl from him yesterday saying he was planning an excursion to find it.”

  
“That’s wonderful; I hope he’s careful, though.”

  
Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy peeling a bunch of white grapes with his wand.

  
“Oh, he’ll be fine; he’s probably taking a newt scale necklace to repel the fire.”

  
“How does that work?” Hermione asked, genuinely interested. She had decided to make an effort and try to understand Luna’s beliefs.

  
Malfoy was using his knife and fork to cut his grapes into halves.

  
“Newt scales have magical properties which intensify if you leave them in a bowl with water and African Sea Salt to rest under the full moon.”

  
Was Malfoy seriously plucking the seeds out of the grapes? How ridiculous; that was it. Harry stood and walked straight to the Slytherin table to stand beside him.

  
“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing?”

The blond looked up, confused for a moment.

  
“Having breakfast; what does it look like, Potter?”

  
“You’re using _cutlery_ for grapes and you’re _plucking_ the seeds out. Honestly?” Harry didn’t realize everyone at the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables were watching.

  
“Don’t forget the peeling part,” Neville murmured without taking his eyes off his pancakes.

  
“I peel them because the skin feels rubbery and it leaves a weird sensation on my tongue.” Malfoy said with his posh accent and raised a pointy eyebrow at his friend before turning back to Harry. “And I don’t like seeds in my grapes; they have a very unpleasant bitter taste. What did you expect me to do? _Chew_ them?”

  
“You can spit them out?”

  
“That’s extremely impolite, Potter; have you no manners? Do you do the same with watermelon? Do you spit the seeds out and maybe keep score on which seed goes farthest?” Malfoy pressed his lips together; Harry was certain he was trying to suppress a smile.

  
“I don’t, but it might be fun, yeah?” He grinned; Malfoy blushed and rolled his eyes, though Harry didn't see malice in the gesture.

  
“Definitely no manners, then.”

  
“People are watching, lads,” said Neville with a smile that resembled something like smugness.

  
Everyone in the Great Hall was staring, even McGonagall; her eyebrows had nearly reached her hairline. Neville gave him a funny look and realization dawned in Harry’s mind; he was having a _polite_ discussion about _grapes_ with _Malfoy_. It amazed him what he was willing to do to have a look at Malfoy’s drawings, but Harry had a plan and he was not backing up.

  
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You do your thing, then. I’ll - breakfast. Yeah.”

  
Harry turned back to his friends who were looking at him like he'd gone bananas and felt his face grow hot.

  
"What was that about, Harry?" Ron inquired as Harry took his seat and heard Dean snickering.

  
"I remember Seamus acting weird before we finally - _ow!_ " Someone had obviously kicked him under the table and suddenly everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

  
"I forgot my DADA textbook, gotta go." Ginny said as she stood.

  
"By the way, father wanted to know if you'd agree to a short interview for _The Quibbler_ , Harry. Once he's back from his excursion, of course." Luna waved goodbye and took off after Ginny.

  
"Yeah, we have to go too." Seamus pulled on Dean's arm.

  
"Before you finally what?" Ron frowned; Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

  
Harry felt as flummoxed as his friend. Was he missing something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shilo1364 my brilliant beta and such a nice person


	3. Curiosity and Jealousy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been right all along; there was something going on. Who did they think they were, sneaking around to snog and – Malfoy and Neville snogged.

"I feel horrid,” Ron groaned, rubbing his belly; he’d gotten a little over-excited at dinner the night before.

  
“Serves you right; nobody should eat so many Chocoballs,” Hermione said as she read a Ministry pamphlet.

  
“It was Hallowe’en night, Hermione; there’s no such thing as ‘too many Chocoballs’ in Hallowe’en.”

  
They were sitting at the foot of a tree (their favorite spot) in front of the Black Lake. It was a nice Monday afternoon; the scent of fresh grass and sunshine filled Harry’s nostrils. He had to work on a Transfiguration essay, but it was due next Thursday; it could wait.

  
“If you feel so miserable why don’t you go to Madam Pomfrey, Ronald?” Hermione said when Ron wouldn’t stop groaning.

  
“Because maybe all I need is love and tenderness from my beautiful girlfriend?”

  
“Oh, be quiet.” She rolled her eyes affectionately, leaving the pamphlet aside, and pulled Ron into her embrace, resuming the belly-rubbing for him.

  
Harry found it so annoying when they seemed to forget he was present; he looked away to the other side of the lake. Not that he was disgusted or embarrassed, just that he felt like an intruder when they were being all coupley and, well, he kind of wanted something like that too. He and Ginny had failed miserably at their second attempt of a relationship; they just didn’t feel that way towards one another anymore. Harry had thought he would feel guilty breaking it off, but, surprisingly, he felt like he’d taken a huge weight off his shoulders; by the looks of it, Ginny was relieved as well.

  
_‘Things changed while you were away,’_ she had said.

  
White-blond hair came into Harry’s peripheral view and he snapped out of his thoughts. Malfoy walked to the lake, stopping a few feet away from the shore, transfigured a rock into a comfortable cushioned chair –too prissy to let his robes get dirty, Harry supposed– and sat, too immersed in the book he had in his hands to notice the trio. Harry was certain Ron and Hermione didn’t notice Malfoy either. After their debate in the Great Hall about the pros and cons of seed-plucking (Dean still teased him about it) they had managed to give each other a few ‘good mornings’ and polite nods.

  
Harry had a feeling Malfoy wouldn’t come to the lake to study, so he found himself pondering what kind of books Malfoy liked to read; he tried to recognize if it was one of the books Hermione kept trying to get Ron to read and realized it was the sketchbook. Malfoy started tracing lines with something that looked like a black pencil, his brows knitted together in concentration; he was drawing. Harry’s heart started racing. There was something about the sight, about the knowledge that maybe this was what Malfoy looked like at night while hiding behind his curtains, drawing images that danced through his mind; it made Harry’s belly stir warmly.

  
Without thinking about his own actions, Harry stood and let his feet lead him toward Malfoy.

  
“Where you going, mate?”

  
He didn’t bother answering, only waved back to his friends as he walked away. Malfoy looked up and noticed Harry getting closer; he quickly closed the sketchbook and pressed it against his chest. Of course, he wasn’t going to make it easy for Harry.

  
“Mind if I sit?”

  
Malfoy narrowed his eyes, giving Harry a cautious –or curious?— look and glanced to where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

  
Malfoy shrugged, still holding the book tight. Harry took it as a ‘yes’ and sat on a rock beside Malfoy’s chair. They sat quietly for what seemed like an eternity, awkwardness thick in the air between them, watching as the Giant Squid poked a tentacle or two out of the surface of the lake every few minutes. Harry started fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve; what would be a good way to start a conversation that could lead to Malfoy showing him his drawings?

  
“The weather is nice,” Christ, was that the best he could manage? “Um, perfect conditions for Quidditch.”

  
“Indeed.” Malfoy sighed, as if he had no other option than to speak to Harry. “It’s a shame the Headmistress won’t allow eighth years to play.”

  
“Yeah; I’d still beat you, though.”

  
“Purposefully letting you catch the snitch can hardly be described as you beating me, Potter.” Malfoy raised an eyebrow but seemed to relax a little.

  
“ _Letting_ me catch the -” Harry gave Malfoy an outraged look, but he only responded with a smirk. “You know, we’re not allowed in the school tournament, but we can still have a little Seeker’s match, yeah?”

  
“Is that a challenge?” asked Malfoy with narrowed eyes.

  
“You bet your pretty hair it is,” said Harry before he could stop himself.

  
“Right.” A small blush tinted Malfoy’s cheeks. “Tomorrow, after class.”

  
They shared a pleasant silence for another couple of minutes. Harry decided it was time to redirect the conversation to the right track.

  
“So, needed some fresh air to finish homework?” Yes, that was clever.

  
“It’s – it’s not homework.” Malfoy’s shoulders suddenly tensed and his knuckles turned white from clutching the sketchbook. Harry could sense his mood changing for the worse. “I - I just remembered, I’m busy tomorrow and - and I have to go.”

  
“What - wait! I didn’t mean to - ”

  
Malfoy hastily stood and headed to the castle without looking back, leaving Harry with an odd feeling in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Harry tried approaching Malfoy after their chat by the lake, but the git just wouldn’t budge. So when Harry heard the sound of the door clicking shut a week later he immediately jumped into action. If he thought that by ignoring Harry he would eventually give up, Malfoy had another thing coming. He reached for his glasses and wand on the nightstand and took his Invisibility Cloak from under the pillow. Harry tiptoed as quickly as he could manage and paused with his hand upon the doorknob as an idea popped into his mind. He pointed his wand at Malfoy’s bed, his heartbeat increasing.

  
“ _Accio_ sketchbook.”

  
For a fraction of a second Harry thought nothing would happen, but the infamous sketchbook came out from somewhere near the head of Malfoy’s bed and he caught it in the air. He ran his fingers over the soft cover: dark green suede leather with a silver dragon engraved. Harry wondered if Malfoy had drawn it. It surprised him how easy it was to retrieve it; he’d thought there would be at least a couple of protective wards against intruders on it. Malfoy had probably been too distracted by the excitement of resuming his mysterious activities and had forgotten to take any precautions.

  
Harry stood there for a few seconds, worrying his lip, his thumb brushing the edges of the cover until he finally sighed. It was wrong. He felt that, by having a look at whatever Malfoy wrote or drew in there, he would be violating his trust. Sure, they weren’t the best of mates, but they seemed to have an unspoken agreement. He really didn’t want to ruin that.

  
_‘You want to be his friend, don’t you?’_ said small voice in his head as he absentmindedly left the sketchbook under Malfoy’s pillow.

  
Harry blew out a breath. This sudden realization wouldn’t distract him from his mission; he would think about it later. Besides, if Malfoy had left the sketchbook behind, it meant that this time he was up to something else. Harry finally exited the dorm ready to go down to the Common Room.

  
“-not saying there’s something wrong with you, just that maybe I’m not the right person, Draco.”

  
Harry froze at the top of the stairs.

  
“I can’t do this without you, Neville. Can we please give it another shot?”

  
Something clenched in Harry’s chest. He put on the Invisibility Cloak, cast a Silencing charm on his feet and went down the stairs faster than lightning to find Malfoy and Neville facing each other in front of the fireplace.

  
“Alright, one more time,” Neville sighed. “But if it doesn’t work you’ll do as I said, yes?”

  
“Yes, yes; I’ll do better this time,” Malfoy said quickly.

  
“Let’s go, then. Flitwick’s classroom is always unlocked.”

  
Harry gaped as he watched them take off; what the _fucking blazes?_ How had he not noticed that Neville was out of the dorm too? Did this mean they were _together?_ Since when? _How?_ He had been right all along; there _was_ something going on. Who did they think they were, sneaking around to snog and –

  
Malfoy and Neville _snogged._

  
Harry was shaking; his jaw clenched, white-hot anger emanating from his whole being. He should probably take a few minutes to think about these feelings, but his brain felt like a hive full of irate bees. By the time he left the Common Room, the other two were nowhere in sight; Harry stomped his way to the third floor without even noticing the screeching portraits which trembled on the walls with the force of his magic.

  
There was a thought in the back of his mind that Harry kept pushing away. It wasn’t possible.

  
He reached the Charms corridor and stood in front of Flitwick’s classroom. Did he really want to know what went down in there? Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm himself and just _think_. An image of Malfoy and _Longbottom_ –that bastard– in a tight embrace made its way to the back of his eyelids and he nearly growled. _That is so fucking stupidly ridiculous; they don’t even make a good couple for fuck’s sake_ , Harry thought.

  
He took a step back and tightened his grip on his wand; there was no time to be subtle.

  
_‘Alohomora,’_ he whispered.

  
The door opened with a loud bang and he quickly sneaked in as Neville peeped out.

  
“Is it Filch?” asked Malfoy from the middle of the room.

  
“I don’t see anybody; probably just Peeves passing by. We’re going to have to leave this for another time.”

  
“No, we’re already here. Might as well give it a go.”

  
Oh, Merlin. Was Harry about to see them…

  
“If we get caught -” Neville stopped at Malfoy’s grimace. “Alright. Remember: concentrate.”

  
Malfoy took a deep breath, jerking his shoulders and trying to relax, and pointed his wand at the center of the room.

  
_“Expecto patronum.”_ A thin thread of silvery mist came out but faded quickly. Malfoy huffed, annoyed.

  
_“Expecto Patronum.”_ Nothing came out this time. Harry had never seen so much sadness in those grey eyes.

  
“Draco -” Neville took a step closer.

  
“No! _Expecto Patronum!”_ Nothing. A look of despair overtook his features. “I can do this, I can! _Expecto Patronum! Expec- Expecto Patronum… EXPECTO -”_

  
“Draco, stop!”

  
Malfoy dropped to his knees with tears falling down his cheeks, exhausted; Neville kneeled beside him, murmuring words of comfort. Harry felt his own eyes burning.

  
“I know you don’t want to accept it, Draco,” Neville said as they stood. “But Harry can help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much Shilo1364 you have been a life saver <3


	4. A statement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had never felt the same way with Ginny –not to mention Cho– and he’d barely touched Malfoy’s arm, for-crying-out-loud.

_It is a general belief held by the Wizarding World that only those who are pure of heart are able to perform the Patronus Charm. According to legend, one of the most famous Patronuses of all time was a lowly mouse that belonged to a young wizard named Illyius. Illyius cast the Patronus Charm while his village was being attacked by the Dark wizard Raczidian and his army of Dementors. Despite the mouse’s diminutive size, it shone with the brightest of lights, bringing the Dementors to a halt as it nimbly moved through the ranks of fleeing villagers. Enraged, Raczidian decided to enter the fray himself and tried to summon a Patronus to ward off Illyius’s mouse. However, he failed to remember that only the pure of heart can produce a Patronus, and thus, for the first time in history, it was revealed what happens when a competent but unworthy wizard or witch attempts the spell. Maggots shot out of Raczidian’s wand and quickly devoured him as they engulfed his entire body._

Harry closed the book, horrified by what he had just read; the silence in the library had never felt heavier. He didn’t know if Malfoy would ask him for help, but he wanted to be ready if he did. Harry had excused himself to Ron and Hermione by saying he would go to Madam Pomfrey for a headache potion, but instead had used his free period to do some quick research.

Malfoy had been branded with the Dark Mark, but Harry had witnessed his attempt to cast the charm last night and nothing wretched had happened; it gave Harry hope.

“I know what you did.” Harry looked up, his eyes widening; Malfoy was standing next to him.

“W-what?” he stuttered, covering the book’s title as much as his hands allowed.

"I _know_ what you did. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?” Malfoy said with a raised eyebrow.

"Shit,” Harry whispered. When he’d left the Charms classroom he’d thought he’d been stealthy-smooth, like a ninja in one of those movies Dudley used to watch. “Listen, Malfoy I… I thought -”

"Thought what, exactly? Being The-Tit-Who-Lived doesn’t give you the right to search through my belongings, Potter,” said Malfoy with the poshest of accents.

Harry remembered his little burst of curiosity the night before and his jaw dropped almost to the floor.

"How did you -”

“I never leave my sketchbook under my pillow.” Malfoy bit his lip and looked around for any eavesdroppers. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep whatever you saw to yourself.”

He stalked out of the library without another word. Harry stuffed the book in his bag and followed; he couldn’t let Malfoy walk away like that.

"Malfoy, wait!” Harry grabbed him by the elbow, making him stop reluctantly. “Listen, I shouldn’t have; it was wrong, I know. I did take it and I’m sorry, but I didn’t open it. I promise.”

Malfoy frowned slightly.

"Why?”

"What do you mean ‘why’? Did you want me to have a look or not?” Harry frowned a tad deeper. Was this a contest to see who could scrunch their forehead the most?

“No, I mean, why are you apologizing? Why are you being _nice_ about this?”

"Because…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  _‘Because I have a massive crush on you’_ didn’t seem like the right answer at the moment. He looked around as if expecting the suits of armor in the corridors would give him advice. One of the portraits: an old witch who was aiming her ear trumpet at them, gave him an encouraging nod when she realized Harry was looking at her.

“Because I want _you_ to show me; I want you to _want_ to show me.”

He was making a statement; Harry hoped Malfoy would understand what came with it. Malfoy swallowed hard and Harry couldn’t help noticing the slight bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Green eyes bored into grey ones; something hot ran down Harry’s spine, making the hairs on his arms stand. They inadvertently moved closer, Harry’s heart seemed to want to crawl up his throat.

"Yes,” Malfoy whispered.

They were standing so close now, their breaths ragged.

_“Ahem!”_

They jumped at the sound and looked around until they realized it came from the witch with the ear trumpet; she giggled quietly.

“Yes,” Malfoy repeated, recovering his composure. “I - I’d like that.”

Harry tried, but couldn’t stop a massive grin that almost reached his ears.

“We, um, we can talk about it after class, or tomorrow - whenever you want.”

"Tonight, in the Common Room.” Malfoy’s gaze drifted to Harry’s lips. “I’d like to have my arm back, Potter.”

Harry hadn’t even been aware that he was still gripping it.

“Right, of course. There you go,” he said as he almost reluctantly let go. “Tonight, then.”

“See you, Potter.” Malfoy smiled.

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn’t stop staring at Malfoy for the rest of the day: during class, in the corridors, as they entered the Great Hall.

"Harry, watch where you’re going!” Hermione said.

"Wha – oh, sorry.” He had stepped on her heel, making Hermione step out of her shoe.

“What is it with you today?” She frowned, wiggling her foot to get it in her shoe again.

“Oh, um,” he looked at the Slytherin table, catching Malfoy’s gaze. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

"Sorry, mate; she already has a date for the Yule Ball,” Ron joked.

"Damn, maybe next year,” said Harry, making his way to the Hufflepuff table. “So, ‘Mione, do you think it’s possible for a Dark Wizard to cast a Patronus?”

“Why? Is this for a DADA essay?” She frowned. “I don’t remember Professor Daythorn saying anything about it.”

“No, no; it’s – it’s kind of…” Harry looked to her side, making sure Ron was too busy stuffing his mouth with Shepard’s pie. “Kind of personal,” he mumbled.

"Oh?” Hermione frowned in confusion for a moment before realization hit her. Harry could swear she looked straight at Malfoy for a fraction of a second. “ _Oh!_ Well, um. Ron, I forgot my Potions book in the dungeon.”

“Agh c’mon ‘Mione, ‘m ‘bout to stah wih’ da roaf beef.” Harry never failed to be amazed by Ron’s capacity to speak with his mouth full without spitting any bits of food.

“Please, babe?” Hermione pouted.

"Fine,” Ron sighed and gulped. “Don’t let anyone near my plate; be back in a jiffy.”

Hermione waited until Ron was far enough away and then turned to Harry giving him a very McGonagall-ish look.

"Ok, let’s hear it.”

"Hear what? I just -”

"Don’t insult my intelligence, Harold; I know this is about Malfoy.” Her expression softened when Harry didn’t answer. “You’re my brother and I love you, Harry. I don’t know what exactly is going on between you two, but if he hurts you I’ll flip him like a _fucking omelet._ ”

Harry was momentarily speechless. He’d never heard Hermione speak like this, but it made him smile –and a little proud.

"That being said, Snape and Dumbledore ensured Malfoy’s soul was kept intact, and I don’t think he’s truly an evil person; I’ve always thought he tried to help you back - back in the Manor,” Harry took her hand and she squeezed back, giving him a sad smile. “We all went through hell in that place, but he was the one who lived for months under the same roof with the madman who tortured him and his parents. I think Malfoy could be able to perform the charm if he can concentrate on a happy memory, Harry, but maybe he doesn’t have happy memories at all.”

 

* * *

 

Harry was sitting on one of the couches in front of the fireplace in the Common Room. He quit trying to join his friends’ conversation as mixed memories of old quarreling and sixth year kept distracting him. Ever since he’d spoken with Hermione earlier, his mind had been a tangle of roads, all of them leading to the same destination: Malfoy.

Harry had seen him go up the stairs. He thought of following, but decided that being alone in the dorm after the moment they’d shared outside the library was quite dangerous. That was another thing he kept thinking of. Harry had never felt the same way with Ginny –not to mention Cho– and he’d barely touched Malfoy’s arm, for-crying-out-loud. And then, that night when he’d thought Malfoy and Neville were a couple… The only time he could remember being that angry was when he’d lost control of his magic and inflated Aunt – _‘stop it, she’s not your Aunt’_ – Marge.

"Are you coming, Harry?” Ron looked at him expectantly. They were the only ones left in the common room, Harry realized.

“I’ll stay here just a tad longer, mate.”

His friend looked like he was about to question him, but merely shrugged and said his goodnight. Ron had a way of knowing when something was bothering him, and Harry had never been more grateful for it; he wasn’t quite ready to talk about this whole feelings thing and, besides, he had no idea what Ron’s reaction would be.

Harry got more nervous as the minutes passed by; would Malfoy really show up to their d- _meeting_? Maybe the other lads in the dorm were still awake, maybe Harry should just go upstairs and leave it for some other time. No, he should stay, give Malfoy a few minutes; he was probably just as nervous as Harry. It was five past midnight on his wristwatch. What if Malfoy had gone to the bathroom and accidentally locked himself in? Harry should probably go check. No, no; he should wait.

A light shuffling sound came from the stairs at his back. Harry felt the nape of his neck bristle. He awkwardly stood up and turned to see Malfoy in navy blue pajama bottoms and a tight –very tight— matching long-sleeved V-neck; sketchbook in hand. Harry’s fingers itched with the urge to touch pale collarbones. Thank Merlin he was still in his school robes; they were proving to be _very_ useful at the moment.

"Potter.” Malfoy was smiling. Harry was sure Malfoy knew he looked fit as hell.

“Malfoy,” Harry responded, trying to summon the calmest expression he could manage as he sat with his hands fisted at his sides.

“I apologize for taking so long,” Malfoy said, sitting beside him at a safe distance; a whiff of cool minty freshness filled Harry’s nose.

“No, that’s quite alright. Um, listen, Malfoy, I just - about what happened in sixth -”

"Stop.” Malfoy looked directly into his eyes. “We both made the wrong decision that day. I’ve put it behind me.”

Harry was about to protest but fell silent as Malfoy determinedly opened the sketchbook and an image of a flower caught his eye.

It was a drawing of a narcissus in grey and white shades. The lines were smooth and flowing, giving Harry a sense of serenity. He was so used to the school portraits and hideous vegetable paintings at the Dursley’s that he was awestruck for a moment; he’d never seen anything like it.

"May I?” Harry asked.

Malfoy slowly passed the sketchbook over; it felt as if he was about to hand Harry a piece of his heart. Harry lightly touched the sheet, almost certain that he would feel the soft petals with his fingertips.

"Did you use magic?”

"One would think magic would give you a better result, but I’ve learned the muggle way is better; you have more control over the lines.” Malfoy watched Harry’s face intently.

Harry skimmed through pages of drawings of different types of flowers. He didn’t know the names of most of them, although he recognized a peony. When did Malfoy learn to do this? How was he so good?

He turned another page and his heart stopped.

On the page was a majestic pair of Stag antlers. The heavy contrast of dark and light created a sense of realism that made the drawing seem to pop off of the paper.

His heart began beating again with so much force that it seemed it was trying to smash its way out of his ribcage. Harry could see it beating through his chest; he could barely control his agitated breathing. He was afraid he might implode.

“It’s beautiful.” The words came out as a soft whisper. He looked up and took in every detail of Malfoy’s face: his slightly thicker bottom lip and pronounced cupid’s bow, smooth pale skin that highlighted the pinkish tint of his cheeks, and those vivid grey eyes.

“Beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An enormous thank you to Shilo1364 the woman with the beta superpowers, and to SailorSlash for her help with the drawing scene. You're both life savers c:


	5. Rough Diamonds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Harry kept letting himself get lost in thoughts involving Malfoy he wouldn’t be able to get anything done at all.

Harry’s lungs were filling with smoke.

  
Someone was screaming; he knew who it was this time.

  
He soared through the air, eluding fiery serpents and chimaeras, following the source of the cries for help.

  
A tall figure was standing at the top of a mountain of objects. Harry reached out and grasped his hand.

  
Malfoy’s hands wrapped tightly against his back; his face pressed into Harry’s shoulder.

  
Everything would be all right. They were safe.

  
_He_ was safe.

 

* * *

 

Harry opened his eyes slowly, a small smile on his lips.

  
He looked up at the ceiling, remembering the dream: Malfoy’s cheek on his shoulder… he could almost feel those strong arms still wrapped around him. And the night before, the way his soft shiny hair fell over Malfoy’s eyebrows, intense grey irises with small flecks of pale blue, and a jawline so sharp it could slice Harry in half. A shiver ran through his body and he blushed, knowing Malfoy was only a few feet away.

  
He’d spent the better part of the night listening to Malfoy talk about the Manor’s garden, about drawing techniques and how he had learned mostly on his own.

  
_‘It helps. It distracts me from the unpleasant memories; there’s too many of them,’_ Malfoy had said, running his index finger along the lines of the engraved dragon on his sketchbook. _‘I don’t know how you do it, Potter, how you manage to look like you’re not about to fall to pieces… Merlin knows I feel like I will sometimes.’_

  
Harry had never thought it would be so easy to talk with Malfoy, let alone that he would have such intense feelings every time he was near him. His eleven-year-old self would definitely hex his ears off, or worse.

  
The dorm slowly came to life as the rest of their roommates started to get ready for the day’s activities. Harry parted the bed curtains and reached for his glasses. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, Ron was trying to fit a foot into a glove, Neville was watering his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, Macmillan was doing his awkward morning exercises, and Dean was – was cuddling with Seamus in his bed.

  
Harry wasn’t as oblivious as everyone seemed to think; he’d always suspected there was something more than just friendship between Dean and Seamus. Now, after witnessing such an obvious display of affection, his hunch had been confirmed. Harry felt a little something in his chest as he pictured a very similar image of himself with pale arms around his waist.

  
He literally shook the thought away; there was a Potions essay waiting to be finished and a bunch of spells he needed to practice for the next Charms’ class. If Harry kept letting himself get lost in thoughts involving Malfoy he wouldn’t be able to get anything done at all.

  
Malfoy entered the dorm completely dressed in his school robes –passing by a still sleepy and conflicted Ron who hadn’t realized he’d put his trousers on inside out– and smiled at Harry, who waved like a happy first-year saying goodbye to his mum from the Hogwarts Express. Merlin, had he no control over his damned extremities? Malfoy chuckled, amused, as he picked up his backpack and left the room.

  
_‘Fuck the Potions essay.’_ Harry followed quickly, tripping over a shoe –presumably Ron’s– and stumbled his way into the corridor just in time to catch Malfoy at the top of the stairs.

  
“Hey, Malfoy! You still owe me a Seeker’s match.”

  
Malfoy licked his lower lip and smiled.

  
“Indeed, Potter.”

 

* * *

 

It was a cloudy evening, quite cold, nothing a quick Warming Charm couldn’t solve, but Harry wasn’t sure there was a clever charm to help him soothe the jittering sensation in his belly.

  
“Hey, Harry,” Neville said behind him, making Harry jump a little.

  
“Hi, Nev. Startled me there.”

  
“Sorry about that.” He smiled. “So, having a little Seeker’s match, eh?”

  
“Um, yeah. Came to watch?” Harry scratched the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected any on-lookers, nor had he wanted any.

  
“Nah, just wanted to – you know, to thank you.”

  
“Yeah, no problem. Um, for what, exactly?”

  
“For looking beyond,” said Neville with a smile.

  
“Looking beyond?” Harry asked.

  
Neville merely smiled again and shrugged. Malfoy came out of the locker room fully equipped with his Quidditch gear and Nimbus 2001 on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed at the sight of two Gryffindors instead of one.

  
“Welp, I’ll leave you to it. Draco, don’t forget what we talked about,” said Neville, as he walked out of the pitch, whistling ‘A Cauldron Full Of Hot, Strong Love’ on the way.

  
Harry was a little confused, but couldn’t help smiling fondly; after the war, Neville’s confidence had soared. He was nothing like the scared little child Harry had met in first year. This new attitude suited him.

  
“Potter, what exactly did Longbottom say?”

  
“I honestly don’t know.” Harry scratched his right eyebrow. “Anyway.”

  
They walked to the center of the pitch –Malfoy’s eyes still narrowed in suspicion– as Harry pulled a snitch a out of his pocket and held it between his thumb and index finger. Its wings fluttered with excitement as if sensing its imminent freedom.

  
“Did you nick that? I will not get detention for playing with a nicked snitch, _Potter_.”

  
“Stop fretting, _Malfoy_. I borrowed it. Besides, Madam Hooch loves me,” said Harry smugly.

  
“Show off,” Malfoy muttered, rolling his eyes.

  
Harry let go of the snitch; it flew above their heads for a split second and then quickly disappeared from sight. They mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground, rising rapidly into the air.

  
As soon as Harry felt the cool wind in his face all his previous nervousness was forgotten and his competitive side took over.

  
“No broom pulling,” he said.

  
“You’re no fun.” Malfoy smiled brightly and turned his back to him. Not even Harry’s competitiveness could distract him from the realization that Malfoy’s bum looked quite fantastic on a broom.

  
Harry ascended higher to get a better view and tried his best to concentrate while Malfoy circled the pitch under him. There was no sign of the snitch by the goal posts nor the stands where he had thrown a Patronus to what he thought were a couple of Dementors back in third year. Nor at the spot where he’d seen his godfather.

  
“Hope you brought that parachute we talked about, Potty, I brought the extra arm.” Malfoy had sneakily approached Harry from the back and was now hovering by his side.

  
Harry laughed at the memory, feeling a combination of nostalgia and annoyance.

  
“Seems like so long ago that you were such an insufferable arse.”

  
“How do you know I’m not anymore?” Malfoy quirked an eyebrow.

  
“I think some people are like rough diamonds, you know,” Harry said, vaguely searching for the snitch. “There are lessons life teaches that polish them little by little until we can appreciate the gem they are on the inside.”

  
Malfoy’s expression would’ve been unreadable if it hadn’t been for a fleeting twinkle in his eyes.

  
“Quite cheesy,” he said turning his gaze away from Harry’s with the faintest of smiles. “Thanks, Potter.”

  
Something sparkling gold in the middle of the field caught Harry’s eye. He and Malfoy exchanged a look and immediately dived through the air.

  
They flew shoulder to shoulder, playfully elbowing one another every few seconds and following the snitch as it circled one of the stands and then lowered to ground level.

  
Harry stretched out his arm, but Malfoy beat him to the snitch just a second before they both crashed and rolled onto the ground in a tangle of robes and legs. Harry landed on top of Malfoy, and they both burst into laughter until their ribs hurt. Neither of them moved, their gazes tracing one another’s facial features as their ragged breathing slowly calmed. Harry’s arms were shaking either from the effort of not falling over Malfoy or the desire to just let go and feel the touch of his lips.

  
“My leg is getting numb,” Malfoy said suddenly.

  
“Oh, erm, sorry.” Harry blinked, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

  
They stood up awkwardly and made a show of dusting off their clothes.

  
“Got it,” said Malfoy, holding the snitch between them. “Told you so.”

  
Harry was about to retort when he noticed Malfoy looking beyond his back, his smile faltering.

  
_“MISTER MALFOY,”_ Madam Hooch called as she stomped her way towards them. She stopped with her hands on her waist, glowering at Malfoy. “What on _earth_ gave you the idea that you could _steal_ one of the school’s snitches?”

  
Malfoy closed his eyes and drew in a breath.

  
“No, no!” Harry interceded. “Madam Hooch, I took it. Just wanted to have a Seeker’s match to, you know, relax a tad, with all the exams coming up and everything. Malfoy didn’t know.”

  
“Mister Potter.” Madam Hooch’s eyes widened. “I would have never thought you’d be capable of such a thing. No matter how ‘stressed’ you’re feeling, you are not to take any of the school’s quidditch equipment without permission.”

  
She extended her arm and Malfoy put the snitch in her hand.

  
“Expect an owl with the date and specifications of the detention you’ll serve, both of you.” She eyed them with disappointment before heading back to the castle.

  
_“’Madam Hooch loves me.’”_ Malfoy snorted. “Plonker.”

 

* * *

 

Harry remembered once seeing two men holding hands while waiting at a stop sign on the way to school. Vernon had floored the accelerator, scandalized by what he described as ‘an imprudent behavior,’ and ranted about the proper measures the government should take against ‘those puffs.’ Harry had thought there was nothing wrong with two people showing affection; he’d thought it was nice and wondered if someone would ever like him enough to hold his hand.

  
He had never thought to question his own sexuality in the past. Growing up with the Dursleys, curiosity hadn’t been allowed. He’d been told that men had to be with women because that was ‘how things had to be,’ and that was pretty much the only sex education he’d ever received.

  
Now, as Harry, Ron and Hermione were finishing their Potions’ homework in the Common Room, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about his romantic experiences. The only time he and Ginny had tried to be intimate it had been… awkward, to say the least, and then everything had fallen apart. After that, he hadn’t even thought about dating another girl again. Harry realized that he’d long ago started noticing masculine figures and deep-toned voices. He needed to talk to his friends. He knew they wouldn’t judge him or make fun of him, but the thought of telling them still scared him.

  
“Um, listen guys,” he said. Ron and Hermione looked up from their work. “I need to tell you something.”

  
A _tap-tap_ on the window interrupted him and he opened it to let in the screech owl that hovered outside; the icy air made Harry shudder as he untied the note from the owl’s leg.

  
“What is it?” Ron craned his neck to read the small parchment.

  
“Detention tomorrow, after class. We have to clean Trelawney’s teacups and crystal balls. Listen, um. I have to tell you some-”

  
“Can’t believe Hooch gave you detention,” Ron said.

  
“Harry shouldn’t have _nickef_  the snitch.” Hermione said, resuming her writing.

  
“He didn’t _nick_  it, he was going to give it back. Right, Harry?”

  
“Yeah, I -”

  
“Oh,” she said, putting her quill down. “So it’s okay if someone takes your pants without permission to wear them as long as they’re going to give them back, Ronald?”

  
“ _What?_ What are you talking about, ‘Mione?” Ron’s eyes widened with horror. “Is someone wearing my – who - it’s Mcmillan isn’t it? _That fucking bastard_.”

  
Hermione made a huge effort to keep her eyes from rolling into oblivion and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning patience.

  
“Can you both please stop? I need to tell you something and you’re not making it any easier.”

  
His friends adopted serious expressions.

  
“Listen, I’ve been going through some stuff, and it’s got me thinking and… well, I need you to know this and I – I don’t think there’s a subtle way to say this. Merlin, my hands are shaking.”

  
“Harry.” Hermione took his hand and Ron patted his shoulder. “Just say it.”

  
Harry took a deep breath. They were his family; they loved him. He could do this.

  
“I think I’m gay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful beta Shilo1364 came to my rescue in this chapter and I am forever thankful <3


	6. Detention.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry happily whistled his way to the North Tower after lunch the next day, not even the knowledge that he would spend an undetermined amount of time cleaning Trelawney’s infinite glassware collection could bring his spirits down; he’d be sharing detention with Malfoy, after all.

Harry couldn’t stop worrying his lip. The nervousness he’d felt when waiting for his turn at the dragon task in the Triwizard Tournament was nothing compared to the feeling that was consuming him as he waited for a response from his friends. Hermione was smiling sympathetically, but Ron’s face was expressionless. Harry hoped they would speak soon; a sharp buzz pierced his ears as the dreadful silence stretched for what seemed like hours.

  
“Harry, we love you,” Hermione said at last. “There’s nothing in this world you could say to change that. I think I speak for both of us when I say we respect whatever your preferences are and as long as you’re happy we’ll be happy for and with you.”

  
“Listen, mate, I know you don’t like to talk about the Dursleys,” Ron said. “But if those idiotic muggles were capable of locking you up in your room to starve, then I don’t even want to imagine what kind of rotten ideas they tried to ingrain in you about the gay community. We’re not trying to diminish the importance of what you’re saying. We know it must be difficult for you, but things are different in the Wizarding World, Harry. People have more important things to do than judging you for who you love.”

  
“No matter _who_ you choose to love,” Hermione added with a knowing smile.

  
Something warm bloomed in Harry’s chest and he exhaled deeply as the feeling of a bone-crushing weight fell off of his shoulders. He loved his family so much he thought he might burst with happiness. A lump formed in his throat and he blinked away the prickling hot sensation in his eyes.

  
“Yeah, mate. Only don’t ask me for love advice; I can barely handle myself in the subject,” said Ron with an apologetic smile.

  
Harry laughed and caught them in a tight embrace, accidentally spilling ink all over his parchment and not giving a damn about it.

 

* * *

 

  
Hermione gave him a book the next morning, titled: Gay, Straight and In-Between: A Guide For Troubled Wizards/Witches. She never stopped amazing him with her capacity to find a book for every matter in question.

  
Ron finally realized, after a few heavy hints, that Dean and Seamus were dating. It was quite amusing to see him pout, offended by the fact that nobody had been nice enough to inform him about their relationship status.

  
So when Harry happily whistled his way to the North Tower after lunch the next day, not even the knowledge that he would spend an undetermined amount of time cleaning Trelawney’s infinite glassware collection could bring his spirits down. He’d be sharing detention with Malfoy, after all.

  
He couldn’t help smiling at the thought. Who would’ve imagined that Harry Potter would be looking forward to detention with Draco Malfoy? Not him, certainly; not half of the Wizarding World, he thought.

  
He climbed through the circular trapdoor at the top of the stairs, welcoming the warmth of the room after the mid-November coldness of the castle’s corridors. He found his partner in crime already sitting in one of the chintz armchairs by the window, surely trying to get some fresh air instead of the sickly-sweet perfume that seemed to have impregnated itself in every inch of the walls and furniture.

  
“Ahhh, greetings my children,” said a calm, misty voice from a plush armchair facing the fireplace. “The Inner Eye warned me days ago that we would meet once again.”

  
Harry caught Malfoy rolling his eyes and had to suppress a smile. Trelawney stood and turned around dramatically to face them, her eyes as bug-like as ever behind her large glasses.

  
“Nice to, um, see you again, Professor,” Harry said. “Madam Hooch sent -”

  
“Sent you to serve your detention,” Trelawney interrupted, rearranging her beaded shawl. “Yes, my child. Rolanda is very much aware of my admirable Seer skills; there was no need for her to message me.”

  
_‘I’d eat my left shoe if I didn’t find a note hidden in her office.’_ Harry thought.

  
“I assume that, even though you are not in my class anymore, Harry, and that you never joined, young man,” she said sparing a resentful look for both of them, “you are still aware that a simple _Scourgify_ is not enough to achieve the desired cleanliness of a Seer’s instruments. I urge you to set to the task at hand with the utmost care. The teacups are easy, but I would very much appreciate it if you’d handle my balls with _extreme_ delicacy.”

  
“Yes, Professor, don’t worry; we would never forgive ourselves if we broke your balls,” Malfoy said with all seriousness and Harry blurted a laugh that he had to disguise as a savage coughing attack.

  
“Thank you ever so much, dear.” Trelawney smiled sweetly. “Chop-chop, then.”

  
She turned, with a swish of her long skirt, and theatrically headed toward her office –where Harry was sure there were a few sherry bottles waiting for her. He exchanged a look and a sigh with Malfoy as they walked to the shelves beside the fireplace.

  
“Right, I think it’s only fair we go half and half,” Harry said.

  
“ _I_ think it’s only fair I go take a nap and leave you here since _you_ were the one who nicked the snitch,” said Malfoy with his eyebrows raised.

  
“You would _leave_ me here? All by _myself?_ ” Harry gasped and clutched at his chest, offended. “You’ve hurt me, Malfoy, you’ve hurt me bad.”

  
Malfoy snorted and levitated a few cups towards the nearest table.

  
“Lucky for you I seem to have a heart, after all.”

  
“Lucky me, indeed,” Harry muttered with a smile as he took some cloths and a small spray bottle full of oily liquid out of a cupboard and sat next to Malfoy.

  
“Are we really doing this?”

  
“I suppose so,” Harry said. “Why? Malfoys don’t do cleaning?” he added mockingly and Malfoy scowled.

  
“I’m going to polish these balls _so good_ you’ll be able to eat off them, Potter.” He snatched the spray bottle from Harry’s hand and took one of the cloths. “You have my word.”

 

* * *

 

“I have a newfound respect for house elves,” said Malfoy, about 40 teacups and 15 crystal balls later. He dropped what must have been his fourth cleaning cloth and slumped into his chair, blowing out a tired breath.

  
Harry smiled. It was easy to be in a good mood; he had been pleasantly surprised to discover, in the past two hours, that Malfoy had a brilliant sense of humor when he wasn’t determined to be an annoying berk. He put two crystal balls on their proper shelf and walked back to the table to resume the cleaning of the last of what Malfoy called _‘fog encapsulators.’ Because that’s actually what they’re for, Potter, Trelawney collects fog_ , he had said. The squeaky sound of fabric against glass and the crackling of wood from the ever burning fireplace were the only sounds in the room.

  
“Even my nails hurt and yet you’re still cleaning those preposterous things with a smile on your face,” Malfoy said, bewildered.

  
“I’m kind of used to it,” Harry said before he could stop himself. A glint of curiosity flashed in Malfoy’s eyes and Harry quickly changed the subject. “Um, so how’s the drawing thing going?”

  
“It’s… going. I’ve put it aside for a little while, though, I’ve other things on my mind.”

  
“Like what?”

  
Malfoy licked his lips nervously and avoided his eyes; Harry sensed this was going to be important. He put the crystal ball aside, not caring about a little smudge that looked very much like chocolate, and focused completely on Malfoy.

  
“Funny you ask, actually, Neville has been nagging me to do this for days; weeks, probably,” Malfoy said, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “See, I’ve been trying to learn something, but I’ve been having some difficulties. So, I was – you know, hoping you could, er, teach me how to cast a Patronus.”

  
Harry had spent days looking forward to this moment, wondering when it would finally happen. But he wasn’t quite prepared for Malfoy’s shyness and the softening of his angular features due to the pink blooming on his cheeks and the hopeful, almost wistful expression on his face. He remembered the events in the Charms’ classroom: heartbreak visible in Malfoy’s eyes, the wavering in his self-confidence, the tears running down his face, and Harry’s own determination to help.

  
“Are you planning on saying something soon?” Malfoy said with forced casualness, but Harry noticed his tight grip on the armrests of his chair. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I don’t mind, Potter, really.”

  
Harry touched the back of Malfoy’s pale hand softly, venturing into the unknown; his reaction would speak loads: either Harry was about to be hexed to the middle of next week, or his gesture would -hopefully- be reciprocated. Malfoy looked up, finally meeting Harry’s gaze, and wet his lips.

  
“I’d love to help you,” said Harry quietly, trying to be reassuring at the same time.

  
Malfoy drew a relieved breath and a soft smile graced his features.

  
Trelawney’s door banged open and the teacher stumbled out of her office, sherry bottle in hand, obviously trying to focus her gaze on them through her crooked glasses.

  
“May I help _-hic-_ you, dears?”

  
“We just finished polishing your balls, Professor,” Harry said and Malfoy giggled, actually _giggled_.

  
“Oooh yes yes, I rem _-hic-_ member.” She said, smiling affectionately. “Such good boys you are. Here, ‘ave a biscuit.”

  
A pair of chocolate cookies appeared in the air at a flourish of her wand and they had a split second to catch them as they soared like bludgers trying to knock them in the head. Harry bit into his and winced at the stale and bitter taste; McGonagall’s biscuits were better by far.

  
“You may leave, now. I’ll let Madam Pooch know how well you-” She froze for a moment and suddenly snorted violently. _“‘POOCH’.”_

  
Trelawney swayed back into her office, cackling and hiccuping, forgetting about their presence and loudly shut the door behind her.

  
Malfoy and Harry looked at each other and ran to the trapdoor, roaring with laughter. They kept laughing even after they reached the end of the stairs; Harry was becoming fond of these little happy-laughing outbursts. It made him feel his own age and not 20 years older.

  
“That was interesting,” said Malfoy, still grinning. “Tipsy teachers aside, it’s surprisingly fun to spend time with you, Potter.”

  
_‘I think Malfoy could be able to perform the charm if he can concentrate on a happy memory, Harry, but maybe he doesn’t have happy memories at all.’_ The echo of Hermione’s words suddenly resonated in his head and his face lit up as an idea occurred to him.

  
Malfoy had to have at least one happy memory, _had to_ , and if not... maybe Harry could give him a few.

  
“Malfoy?”

  
“Potter?”

  
“Would you like to visit Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never get tired of thanking my wonderful super talented beta Shilo1364 <3


	7. The Date.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tried to suppress a whimper as he saw Draco’s expression harden; everyone fell silent. Hermione face palmed, Ginny kept looking between Ron and Draco, Neville seemed ready to tackle someone if needed and Luna nodded wisely and whispered ‘Wrackspurts’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies! I'm so sorry it took so long, but ya know, life happens. Thank you so much for being patient, I hope this chapter makes up for the wait.

Ron and Hermione were sitting in front of Harry during breakfast at the Hufflepuff table. Ron’s spoonful of cereal had frozen in mid-air and drops of milk were falling over his school robes.

Harry and Hermione watched him expectantly with their wands at the ready, in case they needed to materialize a paper bag for him to breath into. Harry had seen people doing that in a few muggle movies when someone freaked out; he didn’t know if it actually worked, but it was worth giving it a try, he supposed.

“MALFOY?”

“Easy, love,” Hermione muttered, rubbing his back for comfort.

 _“Malfoy?”_ he mouthed silently. His eyes seemed to be about to pop out of their sockets.

Harry looked past them to the Gryffindor table where Malfoy was sitting, chatting animatedly with Neville and Hannah Abbott and blessedly oblivious to Ron’s astonishment. A blonde little girl with Slytherin robes raised her eyebrows at them and turned to whisper to a Hufflepuff next to her, but Harry couldn’t care less.

“Yes, Ron. Malfoy,” he said.

“Mate, I… I honestly don’t know what to say,” he said, still holding his spoon a couple of inches from his mouth.

“You can say: ‘Nice one, Harry, hope you two have fun,’” said Hermione as she turned to pick up a piece of toast and spread peach jam on it.

The spoon fell from Ron’s hand to his bowl with a clunk, splashing milk and sending bits of cereal over the table, and he turned to stare at her.

“ _Or_ I can give him my condolences.” He shook his head at her before turning back to Harry. “Are you sure about this? A date with _Malfoy?_ ”

“Ron.” Hermione gave him a severe look.

“Don’t get me wrong; he’s a different bloke now and he’s behaving himself and you trust him and that’s all nice and well,” he said, waving as if his words were an annoying fly pestering at his ear. “What I mean to say is: he’s always so... _uptight_ and you’re so… _you_.”

“Should I feel offended?” Harry straightened his posture and quirked an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Ron said apologetically. “You two _hated_  one another and you’re, well… complete opposites.”

“Opposites attract,” said Hermione, smiling fondly.

“That’s certainly true,” a voice to Harry’s left said, and he turned to see Ginny taking a seat beside him. “Just look at you and Hermione: she’s brilliant and you’re a nitwit.

“Hey!” Ron complained, grabbing a slice of toast and throwing it at her; she caught it in mid-air.

“And here you are, completely in love.” Ginny bit the toast and wiggled her eyebrows mischievously, to which Ron responded —very maturely— by sticking his tongue out at her. “So, what are your plans for the weekend? I suppose you, turtle doves, have a snogging session. What about you, Harry? Going to stay and watch?”

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.” Harry winced. “I’m actually going to Hogsmeade with M- er,”

“With…?” Ginny smiled playfully. “It’s okay if you tell me, Harry. We’re friends, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just, er.”

Harry bit his lip and pretended to be thoroughly interested in the remaining bits of scrambled eggs on his plate. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable talking with Ginny about dating other people; they had put that behind them quite some time ago. It was the fact that he didn’t know how she would react. It had been because of Lucius Malfoy that she’d gone through hell during her first year, after all.

He looked over at Malfoy and their gazes met; they gave each other a warm smile. Harry didn’t even consider the idea of hiding this –whatever _this_ was— from anyone. Neither of them deserved to live like that, shutting their feelings down and hiding from everyone and anyone.

“I’m going to Hogsmeade with Draco.” The name slipped from him without him really noticing.

“With _Draco_.” Ginny’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead and she looked over at her brother.

Ron pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded affirmatively; Ginny’s jaw dropped comically.

“Well, fucking hell.” She whistled appreciatively. “Good on you, Harry, I mean it.”

That had gone far better than Harry had thought it would. He smiled and turned to look at Draco again.

 _“Hi,”_ he mouthed silently. Draco rolled his eyes but smiled at the same time.

 _“Hi,”_ he responded and Harry grinned like a loon.

“Oh, are you and Draco finally dating?” Luna asked with a smile.

Harry was snapped from his I-bet-Draco’s-lips-are-so-soft reverie and turned to Luna so fast his neck made a loud _crack_.

“How did you-”

“Well.” She shrugged. “You do have rather a lot in common after everything that’s happened. Besides, it was a bit obvious. You’re always staring at each other; it was just a matter of time.”

“True love springs from true hate, eh? Well,” Ginny said, suddenly expectant. “Aren’t you going to tell us how you asked him out? We need to know these things.”

Ron groaned and then winced; Harry was sure Hermione had kicked him.

“Um. Well, we were in detention with Trelawney and it was – you know, nice. So I kind of just… did.” He shrugged.

A sudden blast of questions and suggestions bombarded him left, right and center.

“Are you taking him to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop?”

“Detention with Trelawney was _nice?_ ”

“There’s a new shop on Main Street that has thousands of books.”

“Oh you should go Nargle hunting.”

_“Nice?”_

Harry merely smiled affectionately and helped himself to a couple of blueberry scones.

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up to a cold Saturday morning. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, turning on his bed to lie on his side and opened his curtain to look out the window. The sky was a stark white; it would probably snow. He wrapped his warm blanket tighter around himself and snuggled into his pillow. The weather wasn’t going to be a problem, he was going to make sure of that.

He looked over at Draco’s bed: the curtains were drawn. He was probably still asleep.

Someone at his right mumbled something during their sleep and then snored loudly.

Harry got out of bed, put his glasses on and stretched his arms above his head, making a few joints crack. He sat there, thinking of the day ahead, and excitement bubbled up in his chest. Anyone who walked in would think he was smiling at the shoe lying in front of him on the floor. He rubbed his face at the feeling of a warm blush starting to spread on his cheeks and made his way to the bathroom. _‘So this is what it’s like to feel like a teenager. A big sappy teenager,’_ he thought and snickered.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry skipped breakfast; he didn’t think he could eat anything anyway. He’d spent most of his morning –twenty eight minutes, to be precise-- trying to tamper his hair down with Sleekeazy to make it look more presentable.

“You’re using too much, mate,” Dean said. “You want to make it look like you’ve just got off your broom, not like a greasy helmet.”

So Harry washed his hair, again, and let Dean style it for him. When the time came to choose his clothes, he realized that most of his jeans were ripped at the knees or washed out. Seamus took pity on him and lent him a nice pair of black trousers which, with a little spell work from Hermione, fit perfectly.

He completed his outfit with a white shirt, an emerald green jumper and a black coat. He examined his appearance in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised to see that he looked quite attractive, if he said so himself. Dean had done a spectacular job with his hair and Hermione was right, the green jumper did highlight his eyes.

“You _could_ make the trousers a tad tighter, ya know? Give Malfoy a nice view.” Seamus winked.

“There won’t be any need for that, Harry,” said Hermione, dusting non-existent fuzz off his coat. “Your bum already looks quite nice.”

“You’ve never said anything nice about _my_ bum.” Ron scowled.

Draco’s reflection came into the mirror as he entered the dorm and Harry turned to look at him. He scratched the back of his neck and extended his arms as if asking ‘well, how do I look?’

“Nice,” was the only thing Draco said and it was enough to make Harry grin proudly. “I’ll met you at the Entrance Hall, Potty,” Draco said fondly.

Harry felt himself being pulled out of the room by a couple of hands. He smiled and greeted every single portrait on his way to the ground floor, earning him a few curious looks from other students and a fair share of eye rolls from his friends.

Once in the Entrance Hall, Dean and Seamus weaved their goodbyes and left Harry, Ron and Hermione to wait. Harry didn’t know what to do with his limbs: his arms felt heavy at his sides and, Merlin, his legs couldn’t decide between feeling like jelly or stiffening like kneeless robots.

“Relax, Harry.” Hermione patted his shoulder and gave him a comforting smile.

“Right, I’m relaxed. I’m fine.” Harry drew in a deep breath, as quietly as he could manage, and rocked on the tips of his toes in a fairly good imitation of Cornelius Fudge. He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from conjuring a green bowler to have something to fidget with.

“It’ll probably take him ages anyway. Have you seen how many potions he uses for his hair?” said Ron with a snort.

“His hair’s nice,” said Harry absently, looking out at the castle’s grounds.

His hands were getting sweaty in his pockets. He took them out and rubbed them on his trousers, then proceeded to inspect his nails. It was taking Draco a long time to get ready. He looked up the stairs and saw Ginny, Luna and Neville coming down, talking about Luna’s brand new radish earrings.

“He’ll be here in a minute, mate,” said Neville upon noticing Harry. “Had a bit of a wardrobe crisis.”

It comforted Harry to know that Draco was probably just as nervous as he was. He finally started to relax and joined their conversation about Ginny’s upcoming date with Terry Boot; Harry thought he’d never seen Luna with such a serious expression.

Before he could give it much thought, Neville nudged him in the ribs and nodded toward the stairs. Draco was making his way to them, wearing a camel overcoat and dark grey trousers and fuck, he was probably the most attractive bloke Harry had ever seen. He felt the heat in his body rise and concentrate in his cheeks; bloody hell, he hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Close your mouth, Harry,” Hermione whispered beside him. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Aw, don’t you look nice?” Neville cooed mockingly.

“What kind of question is that, ‘Bottom?” Draco lifted his chin and smirked. “I always look nice.”

For some reason this seemed highly amusing to Luna and she started cackling uncontrollably. Harry thought Draco would be offended, but he was surprised to see his smirk turn into a smile; he merely winked at her. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a sudden urge to pull Draco down so he could kiss the corners of his mouth and ruffle his hair.

“So, are we ready to go?” Harry asked, shoving his fists in his pockets again.

“Sure. Lead the way,” Draco said, without a hint of shyness.

“I’ll see you later.” Harry waved to his friends and was about to walk to the entrance when a freckled hand caught Draco’s wrist and held him back.

“Now you listen to me, _Malfoy_. I’m watching you, and if you so much as _look_ at Harry in a bad manner I’ll… I’ll – slice you up like… like a _cheesecake_.”

Harry tried to suppress a wince as he saw Draco’s expression harden; everyone fell silent. Hermione face palmed, Ginny kept looking between Ron and Draco, Neville seemed ready to tackle someone if needed, and Luna nodded wisely and whispered _‘Wrackspurts’._

“Cheesecakes are delicious,” Draco said at last, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Are you saying you think I’m delicious, Weasley?”

“ _No!_ You... just – oh, forget it!” He let go and crossed his arms, his ears turning an alarming shade of magenta.

“Right. We’re going now.” Hermione pulled a very sulky Ron down the corridor that lead to the courtyard.

“He’ll get over it, Harry,” said Ginny. “Anyway, have fun.”

 

* * *

 

It was a quiet walk to Hogsmeade. The soft, chilly wind caressed Harry’s face and helped cool the raving blush that clung to his cheeks.

He tried, but every time he opened his mouth to bring up a conversation topic –that didn’t involve Quidditch or the weather, for once— his brain seemed to short circuit. He started to worry that he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word, giving Draco the idea that Harry was in fact, as idiotic as Draco had claimed he was back in their early Hogwarts years.

Harry took a deep breath and discretely shortened the distance between them.

“So, fancy getting a drink at the Three Broomsticks?” he asked giving Draco what he hoped was his most appealing smile.

“No reservations for Madam Puddifoot’s then?” Draco said with a snicker.

“Hmm.” Harry narrowed his eyes and scratched his chin. “It’d be nice, I love me some awkward tacky atmosphere.”

Draco’s laugh was contagious. Harry was almost certain that he hadn’t laughed often in the past; the fact that Draco allowed him to hear it now gave Harry a sense of intimacy that he hadn’t experienced with anyone else.

They were both red-cheeked by the time they reached the Three Broomsticks. They ordered their drinks and quickly found an empty table beside a window. As Harry took his seat, Draco placed his butterbeer on the table and took off his overcoat. The temperature in the place seemed to rise as Harry took in the sight of Draco’s — _very_ nicely fitting— trousers, and the contrast of his pale skin against the midnight blue jumper he was wearing.

 _“Fuck me,”_ he whispered.

“Excuse me?” Draco froze as he hung the garment on the back of his chair.

“Er. I said _lucky_ me, because this is my, erm, favorite table. And lucky me because it’s… not occupied?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and looked around the half-empty place; it was obvious people weren’t fighting over the table.

“So, um. Are you going home for the holidays?” Harry asked quickly, taking a swig of his drink.

They fell into a pleasant conversation, talking about their classes and discussing the upcoming Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw Quidditch match. Draco huffed a laugh when Harry claimed Hufflepuff would be the winner and proceeded to explain, in great detail, why Ravenclaw would defeat the badgers. Harry knew it already, but he liked listening to Draco. He noticed his accent wasn’t as posh as he remembered; the snarky edge was still there, but the attitude was different. Draco was definitely a humbler person than he had been. Harry found himself enthralled by the sound of his voice and his graceful hand gestures. It did something to him; it was soothing.

“Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“I stopped talking five minutes ago and you’ve just been… ogling me.” Draco smirked, seemingly far too satisfied with himself.

“How can I not when you’re so beautiful.”

Harry had meant to apologize and pretend he’d been thinking of something else, he really had. But as usual, his thoughts tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. Ah well, he supposed he ought to go with the flow. They _were_ on a date after all, he was allowed to say nice things to his companion.

He relaxed his posture and shifted on his seat so their knees touched under the table. Draco drank from his Butterbeer to hide a smile, but couldn’t hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Very smooth, Potter,” he said as he left the empty bottle on the table.

“Not at all.” Harry leaned over the table and placed his hand a mere inch away from Draco’s. “And it’s Harry.”

“Alright. Harry.” The way Draco’s lips moved as he said his name made Harry’s skin prickle.

“Anything else I can get you?” Madam Rosmerta asked, giving Draco an odd look.

Something about that made Harry feel uncomfortable.

“We’re on our way out, actually,” he answered with a polite smile as he stood and gestured Draco to follow him. “Thanks Rosmerta.”

She gave him a sweet smile, but didn’t bother to look back at Draco before she walked to another table.

“Where are we going?” Draco asked as he put on his waistcoat.

“For a walk.”

The crispy air brushed against their warm skin once outside. The sky was stark white, it would probably start snowing any minute. They walked down the street, passing Honeydukes and Gladrags Wizardwear; their shoulders touching.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about your drawings,” Harry said casually as they stopped to look through the window display at Zonko’s.

A Nose-Biting Teacup hopped towards a small pyramid made of Hiccough Sweets boxes; Harry watched it chew the corner of one of the boxes at the bottom.

“I really, really liked them. Especially the one with the stag antlers.”  
  
“I like that one too,” Draco acknowledged after a few seconds.

“Where’d you get the idea from?” Harry asked as they walked away from the shop.

Draco smiled and took his time to answer. By the time he spoke again they’d reached the outskirts of the Shrieking Shack. Harry hadn’t intended their walk to lead them there; the last time he’d been near the place was in third year.

“I remember once receiving a handful of muck on the head right about there,” Draco said, gesturing to a spot between a tree and the fence.

Though it wasn’t the response he had expected, it distracted Harry from his grim memories and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I won’t apologize for that. It was _very_ satisfying.”

“I _knew_ it was your head I saw floating in the air.” Draco scowled at him for a moment.

Harry feared he’d earned himself a scolding, but Draco’s gaze softened and a smile embellished his features.

“I deserved it, though; I behaved like an arse.”

They stood by the fence, watching the abandoned house in the distance. Despite Harry’s desire to know about the drawing, he sensed he should wait. Patience had never been a huge attribute of his, but Draco was not one to be pressured.

“You,” Draco said suddenly.

Harry turned to look at him. The tip of his nose was pink; fog formed in the air as he exhaled.

“After the trials I couldn’t get my mind off you,” Draco continued, leaning a little closer to Harry, making his heart skip a beat. “I convinced myself it was because I never thought you’d do that for me and Mother, that I was just grateful. But then we were back at Hogwarts.”

Harry waited in silence, though he didn’t think he could form a simple sentence anyway; his heart was making an excellent attempt to try and crawl out of his throat.

“I kept remembering that time when you threw your Patronus at us.” Draco huffed a small laugh. “That hurt, you know?”

“I’m -” Harry froze as Draco’s hand brushed his and linked their pinky fingers together.

They turned to look at one another, so close Harry could see specks of blue in his grey eyes and Draco’s breath ghosted his lips.

“I’m not apologizing for that either,” Harry said as his gaze fell on Draco’s lips. “You were an arse, Draco.”

He stood lightly on his tiptoes, slowly closing the distance between them, and give Draco a small peck on the corner of his mouth. He pulled away for an instant and smiled as Draco licked his lips; Harry wanted nothing more than to nip at his cupid’s bow.

“I was… Harry,” Draco said as he ran his chilly fingers up Harry’s neck and cupped his jaw, making him shiver slightly. “Sorry, I’m always cold.”

Harry pulled him down by his lapel, making their foreheads touch, and kissed him softly.

“We fit, then. I’m always warm,” he mumbled against Draco’s smiling lips.

Draco caught Harry’s lower lip between his teeth and traced the outline of his lip with his tongue, making his legs quiver. Their breathing became more agitated as their tongues met. Harry fisted Draco’s coat as his nails scraped the back of Harry’s neck, slowly sliding his hand up and gripping a handful of black hair to pull him closer.

Harry knew, right then and there, that nobody would ever make his insides melt like Draco Malfoy did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta Shilo1364, I owe her my life ♡


	8. What Warms Your Heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are finally dating! After receiving an offer from the Ministry of Magic, Harry isn't sure of what he want's to do after Hogwarts. Fortunately, he finds out thanks to Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is, sadly, reaching its end, but there will be an epilogue after this chapter. I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me and with Harry and Draco. I love you all so much! ♡

“Why can you touch my hair but you won’t let me touch yours?” Harry asked.

“Do you want me to stop?” Draco’s hand halted.

“No.” Harry scowled slightly, making Draco huff a laugh.

“Thought so,” he said, resuming the circular movements of his fingertips over Harry’s scalp and continued reading his potions’ notes.

Dating Draco Malfoy wasn’t easy, but Harry had come to terms with himself and accepted that yes, he had always been attracted to ‘difficult’. He enjoyed it, spending time with him, bickering about everything and nothing. Even the occasional smartarse comments that had once made Harry want to punch him, he now found funny, hilarious even.

The common room was empty now, except for them and Ron and Hermione, who were sitting at a table in the corner. She had refused to go study in the library; it was crowded with fifth, seventh and eighth-years studying for the examinations, much to Madam Pince’s dismay.

They’d been studying for nearly two hours, until Harry’d given up due to a growing headache and laid on Draco’s lap on the couch in front of the fireplace. If Harry thought O.W.L.s had been a nightmare, N.E.W.T.s were proving him very wrong; they had enough homework for the rest of the school year. One more week and they would go home for winter hols.

He still didn’t know what he would do once they graduated. Being an Auror had seemed the logical choice in the past, but Harry wasn’t so sure anymore. He’d spent the better part of his teenage years fighting Dark Wizards; the idea of spending the rest of his life doing the same wasn’t as appealing as it had seemed before.

“We should go for a walk,” he said suddenly.

“We’re studying, Potter,” Draco said absently, his pinky slightly brushing Harry’s scar. “At least I am.”

“A bit of fresh air would help -- get the oxygen flowing to your brain and all that.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to McGonagall’s office?” Hermione called without taking her eyes off her parchment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying and not listening to other people’s conversations?” Harry snapped, looking back at her.

Ron winced and Draco raised his eyebrows, amused. Hermione slowly lifted her gaze and gave Harry a piercing look that wiped the smugness off his face; he’d forgotten she didn’t put up with anyone’s crap during exams --or ever.

 _“Excuse me?”_ she said, almost hissing.

“I – yes, you’re right. McGonagall. Gotta go.” He hastily stood and pecked Draco’s smiling lips before heading to the door, the back of his neck tingling in fear of receiving a hex.

Harry took his time; he was 20 minutes early for the meeting after all. He was curious about what the Headmistress wanted to talk to him about. She had scolded him during her class the day before –Harry had been staring at Draco— but she hadn’t given him detention, so it had surprised Harry when he’d received a note from her, summoning him to her office.

After taking the long way to the office and having a quick chat with The Fat Lady and her friend Violet, he found himself knocking at McGonagall’s door. It opened to reveal her skimming through a book. The small room had changed loads since Harry had last visited; it looked very much like the Gryffindor common room. Harry wondered for the briefest of moments what it had looked like when Snape had been Headmaster.

“Good evening, Headmistress,” he greeted.

“Good evening, Mister Potter.” She looked up at him over her square glasses. “You’re early.”

“Yes, well. Had to run away from a stressed Hermione.”

“Sit, please, and have a biscuit.” She gestured toward the opened can on her desk.

Harry took the baked good and bit as he sat down. He looked around and smiled at the portraits that waved from the walls; he swallowed down a knot in his throat when he spotted Dumbledore’s and Snape’s portraits. Harry still wasn’t sure what he felt for them.

“Well, Mister Potter, you must be wondering why I summoned you here. I’ve received a letter from the Ministry. Head Auror Robards would like you to join the force. He was quite emphatic about not needing you to finish your studies; the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord does not require N.E.W.T.s and needn’t go through the proper Auror training course, it seems,” she said reprovingly.

“Oh. That’s…”

Harry got lost in his thoughts for a moment. Minutes ago he’d been thinking about his future, had been uncertain --he still was. Now, all of the sudden he’d been offered — _granted_ a post in the Ministry of Magic. It seemed his life had been solved for him in the blink of an eye, but… it just didn’t feel right.

 

* * *

 

Harry was distracted throughout dinner that night; McGonagall’s words were still resonating in his mind

“Are you all right?” Draco asked quietly at his side.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” he smiled at Draco’s disbelieving expression. “I’ll tell you about it later. It’s nothing serious.”

Harry took Draco’s hand under the table, drawing a couple of looks from students at other tables. The fuss about their relationship had already lessened significantly. The day after their first date in Hogsmeade, Draco had tried to let go of Harry’s hand when the Great Hall had burst into gasps and gossiping whispers at the sight of their entwined fingers, but Harry had held on tighter and proudly pecked him on the cheek before heading to the Slytherin table.

He remembered a time when he’d been a hair away from hexing people that gossiped about him, but now with Draco, it was like he was carrying a small but strong talisman in his chest.

“So what are you doing tonight, Draco?”

“It’s Tuesday; probably lying in bed, pretending I’m sleeping.”

“Thinking of me?” Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You wish, Potter.” Draco snickered, but the back of his neck had grown red.

“All right. Any chance you’d want to pretend to be sleeping with me by the fireplace?” Draco bit down a smile and raised his eyebrows. Oh crap. “I – what I mean is, you know, just spend some time together. I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to make a move, unless you want me to of course. But – but I’m not, like, I’m not pressuring you or anything.”

“You know, I like it when you start rambling like that,” Draco said, tilting his head and giving Harry a curious look.

“You mean you like it when I make an utter idiot of myself?” Harry mumbled, feeling his cheeks burning.

“Well, yes,” Draco said easily and laughed off Harry’s scowl. “But it’s good to know even The Prat Who Lived gets nervous once in a while. It reminds me you _are_ human. Oh and I want to show you something, so yes, let’s pretend to be _sleeping together_ later tonight.”

Harry couldn’t help but to blurt out a laugh; Merlin, he was so lost for Draco.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s head was on Draco’s lap again, as he stared at the burning coals in the fireplace. The rest of their roommates had left after an intense —and very silly— discussion about which flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans was the worst.

“Hey, Draco?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“No, you cannot touch my hair, Potter.”

Harry looked up at Draco’s smirk and snorted as he sat up, shifting in his seat to stay close to him. “I’m serious.”

“Very well, ask away,” Draco said. He put down the pencil he’d been doodling with in his sketchbook and focused completely on Harry.  
  
“Have you thought about what you want to do? You know, once we’re out of Hogwarts.”

“I – yes, I have,” said Draco with a questioning look.

“It’s just – McGonagall got a letter from the Ministry; they want me to join the Aurors. Said I didn’t need my N.E.W.T.s.” Harry looked down at his nails. It made him uncomfortable, the fact that he was practically granted a post that he wasn’t officially qualified for.

“I see,” Draco said and, after a couple of silent seconds, he shifted on his seat to face him and entwined his fingers with Harry’s. “You don’t have to fulfill others’ expectations anymore, Harry; you’ve done your part. If you are going to dedicate your life to something, let it be something that warms your heart, that you will be looking forward to each day.”

Harry bit the inside of his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. He tried to think of something that he enjoyed doing: he liked magical creatures, but an image of a _Blast-Ended Skrewt_ reminded him that no, he didn’t like _all_ magical creatures. Healing? He would certainly help loads of people if he chose that career, but… no, it didn’t feel right either.

“Anyway, what was it that you wanted to show me?” Harry asked.

“Oh, right. Almost forgot.” Draco skimmed through the pages of his sketchbook. “I know you’re spending Christmas hols with the Weasleys and I’ll go home with Mother, so I wanted to gift you something and I didn’t want to owl it to you.”

“Draco, you don’t have to spend your money on me.”

“I didn’t want to buy you some expensive, shallow gift, so I -” He carefully tore off one of the sheets and handed it to Harry. “I made you something.”

“Lilies,” Harry whispered. “Draco, you did this for me?”

“I noticed you liked my drawings, so… I know it’s not perfect but -”

“No, it is; it’s _perfect_. What do you call it?”

“I haven’t thought of it,” said Draco, trying to hide a smile. “Maybe… flowers and antlers? Is that too lame? I just thought: your Patronus and your mother’s name.”

Harry had never seen Draco nervous; it was endearing.

“I love it,” he said and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Patronus. Something that warmed his heart...

And then it hit Harry, like a splash of cold water to the face. He turned to Draco who’d begun tracing the _‘I mustn’t tell lies’_ marks in the back of Harry’s hand with a fingertip.

"Do you – do you remember what you asked me some weeks ago?”

Draco’s movements stilled for a fraction of a second before he cleared his throat and smirked.

“Yes, to which you answered: No, Draco, you can’t transfigure him into a weasel.”

Harry smiled but gave him a warning look. Draco’s smirk slowly faded and he adopted a more serious expression. “Yes, Potter; I remember.”

“Listen, I know there might be things you don’t want to talk about for whatever reason, but I want to help you. I’ve wanted to help you ever since – since you asked me.” Harry shifted on his seat, he’d been about to confess that he had witnessed what happened in the Charms’ classroom.

It wasn’t like he was afraid of what Draco might think about being followed around by him – _again_ — but he still wasn’t ready to acknowledge the intensity of the dreadful feeling that had burned him down that night, when he’d thought Draco and Neville…

“You don’t have to, Harry. I know I might not be able to because of-” Draco’s right hand fidgeted with the hem of his left sleeve, a habit Harry had learned he absentmindedly did when he was nervous.

“I believe you can; I really do,” he said firmly.

“I’ve tried,” Draco whispered, still looking down. “I know I have to think of a happy memory, but every time I – these images crawl into my mind and I just… can’t.”

“Do you want to tell me about the happy ones?”

“All my happy memories were in the Manor,” Draco said.

Harry understood then; he knew what it was to be chased down by murderers, but living with them, being tortured and watching them torture your family every once in a while… Draco’s childhood might’ve been happy, but the horror and the trauma Voldemort inflicted on him was enough to overcome whatever happy memory he might have.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Neither is yours, Draco.” Harry tipped Draco’s chin up so their eyes met. “We were all caught up in the middle. I won’t say that you need to let go of the past, that’s a process that won’t happen overnight, but maybe you should think about your future instead?”

“The future? But the books say -”

"I know, that you need to think of your happiest memory, but maybe you need to think about the future you want, Draco; we all want to be happy, don’t we?”

Draco looked deep into his eyes, a tiny crease had formed in between his brows; Harry had a sudden urge to smooth it with a fingertip.

"The future," Draco repeated, hope glimmering in his silvery irises.

“C’mon.” Harry stood and pulled him gently. Draco wordlessly followed and let himself be guided out of the Common Room.

Just as they were about to turn a corner, a soft _meow_ made them halt abruptly; Mrs. Norris’ shadow flickered on the wall. Draco pulled Harry and they all but ran back up the corridor, making their best effort not to make a sound. Harry recognized a tapestry that had a hidden door behind it and gestured Draco to follow him.

“You haven’t seen us,” Harry whispered to a portrait of a young ballerina dancer.

They entered and carefully, very slowly clicked the door shut. It was dark inside. Harry didn’t dare move a muscle; he didn’t know if it was because of fear of Filch’s cat hearing them or because Draco’s agitated breathing ghosted warm puffs of breath on his left ear, his chest flush against Harry’s back.

They stood there, Harry with an ear glued to the door, trying to listen for any sounds and after minutes that seemed like hours. Harry felt Draco shift behind him and almost jumped as he heard a soft whisper.

“If I get one more detention because of you, Potter…”

“At - at least we know detention together is fun.”

“Do you think she’s gone?” Draco’s lips softly touched the shell of Harry’s ear. He didn’t know if it had been intentional or not, but it sent chills down his spine.

“I don’t-” His whisper came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Should we check?”

“We could stay here; wait another few minutes.” Draco’s lips brushed against his ear, more deliberately this time. Definitely intentional, then.

Harry turned around to face him, not complaining when Draco didn’t move an inch, and cast a small sphere of light to float near them.

“I have a question.” Draco leaned in and kissed Harry’s cheek before tipping his chin up and kissing him on the lips. "How did you know about this room?”

“I, erm.” Harry cleared his throat again and tried his best to not look like he wanted to kiss Draco breathless. “I know my way around the castle.”

“Quite sneaky of you, Potter,” Draco said, giving him another sweet kiss and taking a step back to look around; Harry wanted to hold him tight and never let go. “Is there a particular reason why you took me out of the Common Room in the first place?”

Right, there _was_ a good reason. Harry shook his head trying to put his thoughts in order and just _breathe_.

“You – er. What do you see, Draco?”

“Not much under this light,” he said, narrowing his eyes and pointed to the wall on the left. “But I think there’s a bookshelf over there.”

“No, I -” Harry felt his cheeks grow hot because that was not how he’d expected this to go. “I meant your future. Remember what we were talking about?”

“Oh. I, um…”

Harry flicked his wand and the sphere of light floated to the center of the ceiling. Draco’s shoulders were tense, his cheeks darkened and his hair glowed beautifully under the soft, white-blue light.

“Just think of it, the life you want; it’s all right if you don’t want to tell me.”

“What, you mean right now?” Draco sputtered, taking a few steps back, his hand fidgeting with his left sleeve.

“Why not?

“I don’t think I can -”

“Stop right there. You know, the first time I cast a Patronus I did it because I knew I could.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, unbelieving.

“It’s… difficult to explain the circumstances, but I did it because I believed I could. Draco, whatever it is that you want to do, that you want to achieve you have to believe that you can, to believe in yourself.”

Draco jutted his chin out, took his wand out of his pocket, breathed deeply and closed his eyes; he visibly relaxed and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Harry walked to stand behind him.

“Raise your arm,” he said, touching Draco’s wand arm. “Point it below shoulder height, above your bellybutton, elbow slightly bent. That’s right, now think.”

Draco exhaled very slowly as he opened his eyes and moved his wand in circles.

_“Expecto Patronum.”_

A silvery mist swirled out of the tip of his wand, just like it had in the Charms classroom, but instead of fading, this time it got denser as it floated higher and higher around the room. Just as Harry saw the shape of something that looked like a wing, it vanished.

“Fucking hell,” Draco whispered, his eyes wide and his chest heaving with excitement. “Did you see that, Harry?”

“I did! That was excellent, Draco; it really was.” Harry took his hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re almost there.”

He was sure that, with a little more practice, Draco would be able to cast a corporeal Patronus in no time, and Harry would be there to help him.

“Have you thought about becoming a Defense teacher?” Draco asked.

The smile on his face was enough to light up the whole room; he had been right, Harry had found what warmed his heart.

“Actually, I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever grateful to Shilo1364 (Tumblr: whimsicaldragonette) for beta'ing ♡


	9. Epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly twenty years have passed since we last heard of Harry and Draco. What ever did Harry end up choosing as a career? Was Draco able to cast a corporeal Patronus? Let's find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to every single one of you who have followed this story. I never thought it would get so much attention (I was elated when it reached 100 kudos) Your beautiful comments are what kept it going. I love you all so much! ♡

Everything was set. Harry had piled the tables and chairs at the back of the classroom to make enough space for practice. This was the last class before Christmas hols, and even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t be more excited.

“Alright,” Harry said loudly over the sounds of happy chatter, rubbing his hands together. “Does everyone have a partner?”

A tiny, very shy looking girl raised her hand.

“I don’t, Professor,” she muttered, nervously fidgeting with a lock of raven black hair.

“No problem, Betsy; you’ll partner up with me,” Harry said, giving her a warm smile. “This is our last class before we go home,” he continued, ignoring Betsy’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m sure you’ll be busy opening presents and eating loads of delicious food –I know I will.” The class snickered and some students rubbed their bellies; probably imagining the homemade dishes that were waiting for them. “So, now that we’ve covered the theory, I’ve arranged this little practice to evaluate your Shield Charm techniques. We’ll work on perfecting them once the holidays are over.”

“So, no homework, Professor Potter?” asked a dark-skinned, red-haired girl.

“Your mother would _kill_ me, Rose. Yes, there _will_ be homework.”

Harry was still surprised to see his students excited for homework –unlike he had been in his Hogwarts years.

“Back to the practice. Betsy and I will give you an example; I will try to disarm her and she will repel my charm with a Protego. Remember: legs slightly separated, shoulders squared.”

Betsy positioned herself in front of him, took a deep breath and waited for Harry’s signal.

“One, two.” Harry paused, feeling every single pair of eyes on them. _“Three!”_

_“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Protego!”_  
  
The force of the shield took Harry by surprise and knocked him off his feet. He ended up falling bum-first on the floor. Everyone gasped. Betsy’s eyes were wide and she covered her mouth with a hand, afraid she would be scolded.

Harry smiled, proud but still pretty shocked. “10 points to Hufflepuff.”

 

* * *

 

A gigantic, silver harpy eagle crossed through the floor and flew around Harry’s office while he put away the last of his belongings in his trunk. It landed on his desk and kept its wings spread, showing off its impressive size.

“Always so proud of having a Patronus bigger than mine,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes fondly as it opened its beak to let out Draco’s voice.

“I heard a thirteen-year-old kicked your arse yesterday, Professor Potty. Chosen One getting old? Waiting for you in the Great Entrance. Love you.”

Harry snorted as the Patronus vanished and he closed his trunk. He hurried out, longing to go home with his husband after three long months away.

Draco was looking out at the grounds, his back to Harry.

“Missed me?” Harry whispered behind him.

Draco turned around, smiling, and gently pulled him closer.

“Like hell.” He kissed Harry’s forehead, and Harry inhaled deeply, reveling in the citrus-y scent that he now associated with home.

They walked to the gates of the castle, and Harry couldn’t stop smiling, still feeling like a sappy teenager after nearly twenty years together. He and Draco had gone through so much and, Harry thought as he admired the way the sun reflected in Draco’s hair, _‘there’s still so much more to come.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever immensely thankful to Shilo1364 (Tumblr: @whimsicaldragonette) for being my beta, for giving such good advice and cheering me through this story. ♡

**Author's Note:**

> Forever thankful to my beautiful beta shilo1364 for her wonderful help.


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